


The Pick Up

by Emyrldlady



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Confusion, F/M, Genderbending, Get Together, M/M, Those darned Asgardians and their magic, hotel pickup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emyrldlady/pseuds/Emyrldlady
Summary: It's not who Clint really wants... but then again maybe it is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for not keeping up with writing. Things have been well.... things. I've got a dozen ideas but nothing's panning out. This one is as close as I could get. I'm not thrilled with it, but I need to finish ideas. Again, much thanks to AmazonX for the beta.

 

Clint woke slowly, in luxury, face down on one of the softest beds he'd ever been in with what he assumed was a billion count pure white bed sheets. There was a breeze coming through the floor to ceiling windows and a spectacular view of the Riviera. There are drawbacks to being friends with Tony Stark, but this was not one of them.

For once, Tony’s idea of team bonding had worked. They had come to Monte Carlo to watch Tony’s racing team. The officials had politely, but firmly, requested that Tony himself not participate and fortunately the race had gone off without any supervillains appearing. There had been much celebrating as the Stark team won in several divisions. Tony had magnanimously donated all the winnings to clean fuel resources and an old fashioned Tony Stark party began. Well, one tempered by Pepper’s cool head. But still it was quite the party.  

Laying on his stomach, face buried in the pillow with the sheet riding low on his hips, Clint thrust lazily into the bed for friction against his morning wood. He felt the stretch and burn in his hip flexors and was reminded that he hadn't spent the night alone in this luxurious bed. He turned his head seeking out his companion and saw that there was still someone lying beside him, asleep, covered by the sheet.

Clint smiled, recalling the woman he picked up in the bar the previous night. Most guys would have glossed over the plain woman with neat, light brown hair. She'd been wearing a navy business suit in a sea of bright, clingy, low-cut evening wear.

But most guys don't have a suit-kink like he did. Her subtle curves caught his attention and a pair of spectacular blue eyes kept it. Her hair was a soft sandy brown, tucked neatly behind her ears, she was probably a few years older than him, but not old enough for it to be a weird mommy-kink or anything.  She just struck him breathless. Not the femme fatal that Natasha was, or even the ice goddess that Hill reminded him of. Not that he’d ever tell her that. Clint didn’t even remember leaving his friends. They catcalled he was sure, but once Hawkeye had eyes on his target, he couldn’t be distracted.

There was something in the way she assumed he was joking when he offered to buy her a drink, like she'd never expect that he'd want someone like her. She had actually looked over his shoulder for a crowd of guys snickering at her, and while he was sure his teammates were looking, they’d never do something like that, not even Tony. He'd been angry on her behalf that this was what she expected. It was her norm to be unnoticed. 

If Clint were being honest with himself, he truly didn't want _her_ , not that he'd overlook her. She really was stunning to him, but the one he really did want was impossible. And she was so close to what he did want, except for gender, so that night he did indeed want her.  

They'd talked over drinks; she'd ordered a top shelf bourbon that he'd only known one other person to order, making the encounter a little more surreal than his brain wanted to accept.

She'd refused to tell him her name and that sent a few warning signals as well. But when she finally smiled at him, a coy half smile, everything else fled his mind.

They'd had a great night. Clint wasn't really one to search inward. He was fine, thank you very much S.H.I.E.L.D. psych department, but even he knew the rarity of this kind of encounter. The kind that was magic and would remain a wistful, enchanted memory forever. 

When he invited her back to his suite, she had bitten her lip in indecision and Clint couldn’t resist swooping in for a taste. She tasted of the bourbon, and nerves and well… gun oil. Clint couldn’t get her back to his room fast enough.

Once she’d decided that this was happening, she was the most passionate thing he’d ever held. She was fire and sugar and steel. He was used to being in charge, not that he always wanted to be, but usually if the woman was shy, he’d have to coax her clothes from her, reassure her, but not this time. It wasn’t like she blossomed from his touch, but reacted with such fierce passion, like it was her last chance at something.

Her body was strong, firm muscles and slight curves that dipped in all the right places. He ended up naked first and she tossed him to the bed, honestly tossed him. It left him breathless as she stalked up his body and straddled him, exposing her thighs enough to see she wore a black lace garter belt and silk stockings beneath her sensible skirt.

As she unbuttoned her blouse he saw her breasts encased in matching lace. Such sensual luxury underneath her sober exterior. She settled over Clint’s hardening cock, the slide of her panties, silk and lace, sent his nerve endings into overdrive causing him to buck up into her pleading for more.

She took off her scarf and slid it through her hands, her eyes branding him with her stare, claiming him. She silently asked if she could tie him with her scarf. Clint was so turned on. He’d never felt submissive with a woman before, frankly he knew he was submissive to only one person, but her eyes commanded him, told him he’d be safe, that she would take care of him. He nodded, unable to speak and held his wrists up to her. She looped the scarf around his wrists and leaned to forward, her breasts in his face as she tied his bound wrists to the bed. They were tight, a good knot, but Clint knew that if he really tried he could escape. And she knew he knew and smiled that modest smile and allowed her hair to fan across her face in timidity. Now that he was bound, he was hers.

Her hands followed the lines of his biceps, fingers trailing delicately, almost reverently, making Clint shiver. He closed his eyes, lost in sensation while she rocked slowly over his throbbing cock. Her fingertips hovered over his nipples with light ghosting touches. He thrust up, causing a firmer touch and she chuckled softly at his impatience, but heeded his request with a sharp slap to his right nipple and he hissed his pleasure.

She ground herself again against him, her panties wet and rough against his bare leaking cock. Clint took a deep breath, trying to center himself so he wouldn’t explode. He was better than this, had more control, but the pull of her body sang to him, demanded he be inside her. But she was in control, she had to lead and he would follow.

She sat back further on Clint’s thighs, thighs that shook with restraint as the cool air hit his cock and he moaned again, thrusting into the air. She stilled him with a strong hand to his hip and suddenly his damp cool cock was engulfed in her hot mouth. She licked away his pre-come and suckled him for more. He couldn’t see her, her hair blocked his view. He wanted to touch her to grasp her head and hold it while he thrust up into her mouth. He even tried to tug on the scarf, but it wouldn’t move. The knots were more complicated than he thought. But he didn’t panic. He let her firm hand comfort him, as it held him in place, strong enough he knew that he’d have small circular bruises in the morning and he loved that, moaned even louder.

With her other hand he could see her grasp the small square of cloth covering her from him and ripped it from her body.  She sat up and he moaned at the loss of her mouth, but she quickly crawled up his body and positioned herself over his cock, her heat making him twitch. He knew he should say something, reach for a condom, anything. But he couldn’t. He needed this flesh to flesh. He knew he was smarter than this, but he felt like he would explode if he couldn’t feel her walls closing on him, grasping him into her body.

When she finally sank fully on his cock and he could feel her surrounding him, he couldn’t breathe. He looked from where they were joined up her body to her face which was thrown back in ecstasy, but he could swear she had a tear traveling down her face. He softly began to rock up into her, needing to give her more. Needing to convey his feelings.

Clint could see a fleeting smile as she rocked harder in rhythm with him. She bent low over Clint’s body as her lips explored his chest, teasing and torturing moans of pleasure from him and she still didn’t say a word.

It was like a spell was cast and words were forbidden. Just the mingling of their breath as she finally lifted her head, brilliant blue eyes, familiar eyes in a stranger’s body looked at him as if he meant everything in the world, that everything depended on this kiss…

_“SHIT!”_ Clint internally screamed. Jolted from his memories from the previous night he remembered what happened. What he had done. Just as their lips met he couldn’t hold back, he tried, but he exploded into her in a mind blowing orgasm just as he screamed out a name, not her name… _his_ name.

Clint looked over to the form next to him. His mind was a blank after that. Had she gotten angry? Thrown things? Why was she still here, did she forgive him?

He slowly moved a hand over the sheet, feeling the form below. A stronger form, with more hard planes than he remembered. He slowly drew the sheet as he heard his bed partner mumble, slowly waking.

To Clint’s shock the woman he slept with last night wasn’t the person in his bed, laying naked. This person was decidedly more hairy, and a much flatter chest. As they both sat up, sheets pooling at their hips, and by the way there was quite the bulge laying under that sheet. Clint finally looked into the same eyes… he should have known him by his eyes.

“How?” Clint finally breathed, terrified it was all a dream.

Phil’s lip quirked up, the way Clint found fascinating last night. “How else? Asgardian magic.”

Clint frowned, suddenly upset. “Loki? He did this to you?”

Phil shook his head and smiled. “No, not Loki. Frigga.”

“But I don’t understand. I thought she liked us,” Clint said.

Phil smiled that crooked smile that did things to Clint. “She does. Frigga is the Goddess of love. Guess she thought it was about time we did something about it.”

“By making you a woman? Phil, we’re both bisexual. Why would gender matter?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure, but it had something to do with making me a perfect version of myself only someone you would make a move on. Because as she, saw it you never wanted to upset the balance, neither did I.”

“Well…” Clint was still confused, but some part of him finally realized he had a naked Phil in his bed and he just had to reach out and touch him. “You’re perfect to me, whatever gender you are. But I really got to say, I like this version of you, with all your scars and bullet holes that I can trace.” Clint’s fingers skated Phil’s skin.

“Was it the kiss? Some sort of fairytale ending?”

“Well, Freya is also the Goddess of sex and you did call my name out at just the right moment.”

Clint leaned in to kiss Phil, now that he could kiss Phil. “We’re not telling our kids that true love happened when I shot my load early.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
